


don't delete the kisses

by fastforwardty



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009, First Kiss, First Meeting, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Songfic, how do tag things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fastforwardty/pseuds/fastforwardty
Summary: i see the signs of a lifetime,you til i die-or, the very beginning of it all, based on don't delete the kisses by wolf alice





	don't delete the kisses

Phil’s in too deep, and he knows it this time. He was in too deep from the moment he first saw that face — that stupid,  _ beautiful _ face — and now there’s no climbing out of this. 

He’s always been one to tread lightly on his feelings, such silly and fleetful things. Each step into a new relationship is cautious, hesitant. Each door is one that creaks with the slowness of its opening. Phil’s never been one to let himself get too attached too soon, if at all. This was never meant to be anything more than a quick fling, a little nod to someone on twitter who watched his videos. They weren’t supposed to start messaging each other, Skype each other, know each other’s daily schedule like the backs of their hands.

Yet here he is, laying in bed and messaging a boy he’s never met that he’s really only known for a few months, the most ridiculous grin plastered on his face because he simply can’t contain it.

Phil is, for lack of a better word, fucked. 

He didn’t expect them to hit it off so well, although he wasn’t sure exactly  _ what _ he expected from messaging someone he has so much in common with. It’s a comfort and a reassurance, he figures, but at what cost? Every text sends Phil closer and closer to the point of no return. There’s a fine line, and he teeters on it.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been texting, but he knows they were on Skype together for at least three hours prior before Dan’s parents went to bed and he had to worry about waking them.

**_Honestly, fuck my parents. I can’t wait to finally be at uni_ ** , Dan sends, then another: **_Sometimes I wish I could bail out of town and just stay in Manchester with you for a few days xD_ **

**_So why don’t you xxx_ ** , Phil types, deleting the three Xs at the end before deleting the whole thing entirely.  **_It’s not as fun up here as people think it is_ ** , he sends instead. He can’t let Dan be here for fear of shattering this polite little illusion of connection they have. It’s always been so easy to polish himself up on the internet, to tuck away the parts of himself other people shouldn’t have to put up with seeing. Phil could never be so selfish as to burden Dan with himself.

Making out with strangers at parties is easy. One-night stands are easy. Just the sheer idea that Phil could have a crush on someone? Overwhelming, terrifying, complicated — especially without the guarantee that  _ someone _ could like him back. In fact, Phil finds it far more likely that this means absolutely nothing to Dan and feels ridiculous for being unable to think the same. What happened to not getting attached?

**_I’m sure anything’s fun with you around_ ** , Dan replies, and Phil can’t help the warm flutter that crawls all the way through his stomach and into his throat.

Wholeheartedly, undeniably fucked.

 

… 

 

Phil is convinced that nothing else in the world matters except for Dan, and he finds it incredibly inconvenient. Every corner of his mind is consumed by brown eyes and brown hair and those stupidly cute dimples and it’s so hard to think about anything other than kissing them when he wants to kiss everything else too.

His camera sits in front of him, recording light blinking at him like a mockery every time he checks his phone for a new message. It’s been getting harder to record videos lately, now that there’s someone in particular he wants to impress more and more. Someone he’s meeting in just a few short days — and there’s that flutter again.

People are already making their assumptions, which just gives Phil more false hope. In all honesty, he likes it. He likes feeding into them, the illusion of something being there along with the feigned reassurance that his feelings aren’t all in vain. More suggestive Dailybooth comments, Formspring answers, Twitter mentions. He can at least pretend there’s something to show off.

**_I can’t wait to see you xx_ ** , Dan texts, and Phil’s breath stills in his throat. He powers his phone down and tosses it back onto his bed, doing his best to delete the kisses at the end. They don’t mean anything, he tells himself. 

He stares into the black lens of his camera, and the scene appears: a train platform, void of all the usual hustle and bustle of Piccadilly Station. Here, all they have is each other, standing alone on the platform. Dan steps onto the train, and Phil can feel the opportunity slipping away. The words are right there, they’ve always been ready, but his lips have forgotten their shapes. The doors close, and all Phil can do is wave as the train departs. In this scenario, it never comes back.

Phil gulps, standing from his spot on the floor. The camera continues rolling, capturing the empty space while he walks downstairs into the kitchen. He pulls out whatever liquor he can find from the cabinets and collects it all on the counter. The options are slim, but they’ll have to do. Vodka’s always been his preference; he twists of the cap and throws a swig back, face souring at the burn as it falls down his throat. The rest of the the alcohol returns to the cabinets, but he takes the vodka back with him upstairs. For later, he tells himself, taking another drink as he closes the door behind him.

The lightness creeps up on him slowly, and then all at once. He returns to his spot on the carpet and meets the camera’s stare, a hazy glint in his eye.

 

… 

 

Standing on the train platform is even more nerve-wracking than Phil anticipated it to be. He keeps wiping his hands at his jeans, but they never stay dry; he doesn’t know what else to do with them. Strangers surround him in the large space, yet he feels utterly alone where he stands. Any minute now, that train will be pulling into the station, and the reality of the situation will finally hit Phil in the chest.

He hears it approaching. Every blow of the train’s whistle is a staccato of his heartbeat. Phil’s running the pads of his thumbs along the tips of his fingernails, chewn down to the beds — he’s never been one to bite his nails before. Anxiety brews deep in his stomach, and he fears he may be sick. 

Phil can’t remember a time where he’s ever been this nervous before; in fact, he doubts he ever has. Whatever happened to that same easy-going posture he adopted in university? What happened to taking chances and being impulsive and making poor decisions just for the sake of doing so? 

At another point in time, another place in the universe, Phil may have been so inclined to snog strangers in the orange half-light of parties. Today, Phil relives the quiet terror of a boy who’s never been kissed.

The train slows into its place on the platform, and the gust of its wind threatens to knock all of the air out of Phil’s lungs. Doors are opening, and the collar of Phil’s shirt suddenly feels tight around his neck. People move in waves against each other into and out of the cars. He is surrounded by heads and bodies, each indistinguishable from one another. Phil squints, trying to make out the details of the nameless faces; worry wears divots into his thumbs and lower lip.

He’s not sure how he started running, only the blur of parting crowds and a small peak of brown hair and the feeling of his shoulders brushing past others as he breaks through the crowd. Phil couldn’t stop smiling if his life depended on it.

The force of their chests colliding steals the breath out of him, but he suspects the light-headedness is unrelated. Their added momentum makes them sway into each other, Phil rocking on his toes and heels. He wonders how it’s possible for his arms to fit so well over Dan’s shoulders, how Dan’s head nestles so well into his neck.

He’s crying; he can feel it in the warmness that cascades over his cheeks, chilling to the cold air of the platform. He thinks Dan is too, but that was somewhat expected based on the stories Phil has heard. Dan needs this, but where were Phil’s tears coming from?

They draw away from each other, and Phil doesn’t want to admit to himself how much he already yearns to feel Dan’s heartbeat against his own again. Red eyes, stupid grins. There’s a tug in his stomach, an urge to kiss whatever tears remain away; he needs something else to do with his mouth.

“Hey,” Phil says, and his voice is bubbly but he couldn’t care less.

“Hi,” Dan answers, eyes wide: starstruck. “I didn’t expect you to be this tall.”

Phil chuckles and Dan follows suit, and they’re left to their own bubble of each other in the middle of the crowd. The train is gone now, who knows how long.

He thinks he could die right now, but he’d really prefer not to.

 

… 

 

Phil wishes he weren’t so nervous, almost as much as he wishes he knew what to do with his hands. He tries to find a place for the energy to go, but it only comes out in claws. Dan laughs and leans into the touch, and Phil tries not to look too far into it. Things can never be what Phil wants him to be.

They sit in cushioned chairs opposite each other in the darkest, most secluded corner of Starbucks that they could find. It almost feels secretive, like they’re hiding something from the rest of the world. Back into a just bubble of themselves.

Dan has whipped cream on his nose; Phil resists the very strong urge to lean across the table and wipe — or more accurately, kiss — it away. Instead, he taps at his own, and Dan gets the idea. They giggle at each other, and Phil lets himself keep staring when Dan looks down. Just this little moment, he can keep this one. It can be entirely his, even if Dan isn’t.

 

… 

 

Dan keeps making silly faces into the webcams of all the Macbooks at the Apple Store, and Phil watches his face on the screen. The urge to kiss is stronger still, and Phil’s not sure how much more power he has to will it away.

Their eyes meet on the laptop screen, and Phil draws his gaze away, an awkward hand running through his hair just so he has something to do with it other than claw.

“Wanna take a picture?” Dan asks, voice far more soft than Phil is deserving.

“Sure,” Phil says. They position themselves together within the frame, and Phil taps at the trackpad. The timer ticks down to capture them; Phil looks away from the screen, unsure he can keep himself from staring at Dan there.

Both move instinctually after the shutter clicks, hands meeting on the trackpad in an awkward brush. They linger, but Dan draws his hand away first, grinning sheepishly as he waits for Phil.

Phil sends it to himself, mumbling something stupid about putting it on Dailybooth. Dan beams at him, and Phil still feels so undeserving of that smile.

 

… 

 

The sun is setting outside the window next to their table and Phil’s trying to remind himself that this means nothing, but that gets increasingly more difficult as he remembers they’re in a bar together on the 23rd floor of a Hilton Hotel and watching the sun set. He’s careful not to let himself have too much to drink — for fear of doing something he simultaneously will and won’t regret — but Dan’s hardly touched his drink, too.

Again, Phil reminds himself that this means nothing.

Normal friends don’t do this, do they? But Phil reasons that he and Dan don’t have to be normal to be friends.

“It’s so pretty,” Dan says, and Phil hums a response; they aren’t looking at the same pretty things, but that’s okay. Dan turns back to face Phil, and Phil quickly draws his attention away from where the back of Dan’s head has been replaced. “Will you take a picture?”

“Sure,” Phil answers. Dan passes Phil his phone, and Phil carefully frames the shot; this is  _ his _ view, his version of the pretty things.

But he doesn’t have to mention that, only passes the phone back to Dan.

“Thanks,” Dan says, and their hands brush again. 

Now Phil sees Dan’s face, coated in golden fading sunlight. The urge climbs further into his throat, and Phil fears what will happen if the urge finally reaches his mouth.

 

… 

 

Their cabin of the ferris wheel looms over the city, rocking as it comes to a halt. This moment is a pause, another one for Phil to file away into some catalogue of feelings he’ll pretend to forget.

He looks around the entire space that surrounds them, desperate for his eyes to find purchase on something other than Dan. The notion of movement presses urgently on him, threatening to end this stillness before Phil’s ready to let it go. His lips are desperately sealed, fending off everything in his gut telling him to sit just a little closer, lean in just a little more. Time is running out, and Phil is tired of weighing pros and cons in his head.

Phil takes in the scenery, letting it consume him — a safe distraction. He can catch glimpses of Dan’s reflection in the glass of the cabin, and even that is too tempting. Just one little peek, one little glance at that beautiful face framed in blue shadow. His gaze falls to Dan, and he’s not sure how they ended up sitting so close together, but Dan’s leaning still and Phil is a deer caught in headlines and the cabin lurches in time with Phil’s chest as it descends. 

No longer is this a snapshot, but a motion picture. Lips and hands and the delicate lightless of relief. The tide swallows him, and Phil emerges clean and renewed.

The cabin lurches to another stop at the foot of the platform, and Dan’s lips are gone. He looks so small, Phil thinks, knowing that familiar coating of fear on his face.

“C’mon,” Phil says, a hand reaches for Dan’s in the small space between them. “Let’s go home.”

 

… 

 

“This looks ridiculous,” Phil says into the mirror, positioning and repositioning the headband. “I can’t get the ears to look right.”

“They look fine,” Dan smiles, re-adjusting them as he watches the reflection. He brushes at a few strands of Phil’s hair, moving them into place around the ears. Phil hates how much he already misses the touch, how much he’s missed it since they saw each other last — first. “Do I look enough like a bear?”

The two step back from each other, Dan motioning to his outfit as Phil eyes it up and down. He grins, “More like a dog, I think.”

“We can’t go as a cat and dog to this Halloween thing,” Dan rolls his eyes. “That sounds so cheesy.” He turns back to the mirror and pulls a black marker from his pocket, moving closer to add detail to his face.

Phil eyes Dan cheekily, “Isn’t it supposed to be?” 

“Oh shut up,” Dan smacks Phil with one of his armbands before putting it on. “You still have to draw your whiskers,” he says pointedly, holding out the marker to Phil. Dan steps aside, and Phil takes over the old spot, pulling back his cheeks as he draws the whiskers on. 

Phil steps back, eyeing their reflections. “Cat and bear save the world,” he says, mostly to himself. “Picture?”

Dan nods and steps closer into the frame, still trying to perfect the marks he’s drawn. Phil takes the picture and looks to Dan in the mirror, oblivious. He lets himself lose a little self-control and seizes the opportunity to tuck himself into Dan’s neck, clicking the shutter at the sound of Dan’s breathy chuckle. It feels silly, juvenile, cliche, and Phil drowns in it.

 

… 

 

They cling to each other as they move with the crowd, arms hardly leaving each other’s waists.

“How have none of these people eaten yet?” Dan leans in to whisper.

“They’re all like mannequins,” Phil whispers back. “Kinda creepy.”

“Very creepy,” Dan agrees. “I’m still hungry.”

They share a small look with each other, neither speaking a word to each other or anyone else as Phil takes Dan’s hand and pulls them away from the crowd. They move away from the noise and the lights of storefronts, welcomed by the quiet rush of water running through a fountain. 

“Grab something and bring it here to eat?” Phil asks, hand maintaining its grip on Dan’s. 

Dan nods. He tugs at their hands and Phil tugs back, their grips tightening on each other. Not an attempt at distance, but a reassurance. Phil grins, and this is all he could ever ask for.


End file.
